## Chapter 829: Old People and Past Events of Hometown Covered Bridges
The innkeeper was an old hand at this business. While the inn did well enough, it wasn't so bustling that only a single room remained. The old man had simply taken a liking to the blue-robed man carrying a sword, a wanderer of the jianghu. He seemed decent enough, with clean clothes, a pleasant demeanor, and didn't look like a troublemaker. So the innkeeper decided to give him a hand, but not for free. When setting the price, he added a few extra taels of silver. Fearing he might be scolded for his good intentions being mistaken for something else, he first cast a meaningful glance to see if the man would appreciate the favor. To his surprise, the man immediately returned a knowing look. Well, well, the innkeeper thought, you're quite savvy, aren't you?
The innkeeper accepted a few pieces of broken silver bits — official Great Li currency used across the continent. After weighing it on the scale, he trimmed the edges and returned some to the man. Then he took two travel permits, picked up his brush, and made a record. The yamen would later check the account books and case files; inconsistencies could lead to legal trouble. The old man glanced at the man and sighed inwardly. “You can buy rank and salary with ten thousand gold, but where can you buy youth?” Youth is good; there are things you won't lack the strength or will for.
As the old saying goes, “Beauty consumes the young.” But this blue-robed man looked like he was no longer young—around thirty, perhaps? So why did he seem so green? Could it be that he was from some obscure jianghu sect, so focused on training his physique and martial arts that he forgot to find a wife?
The pair—seeming to be a man and woman of the jianghu traveling away from home—had their ancestral homes listed on the permits as Huaihuang County, Qingci Commandery, Longzhou, Great Li. The man was Chen Ping'an, the woman Ning Yao.
Since they were fellow Great Li natives, the old man’s face grew even more kindly. Handing back the permits, he couldn’t help but chuckle, “Since you’re from Longzhou, you must be able to look up and see Lord Wei’s Piyun Mountain anytime, right? That’s a fine place. I’ve heard from friends about a town called Hongzhu, where three rivers meet—a real feng shui treasure. Praying to the Water God of Chongdan River for success in exams, or to the Water Goddess of Yuye River for marriage—each is said to be quite efficacious.”
Chen Ping'an smiled and nodded. “That seems to be the case. When we return home this time, we’ll go and see for ourselves.”
The old innkeeper was truly talkative; the topic had sparked his enthusiasm for a good chat. He didn’t even rush to hand over the room key. Leaning on the counter, he pushed a small dish of peanuts toward the man with his finger and laughed. “I hear that besides Lord Wei’s Piyun Mountain, your Longzhou has several mountain and river shrines, and even an Immortal Ferry. So you must get to see traces of the immortals every day, right? Not like here in the capital—the government is strict, and the mountain immortals don’t dare to come and go freely through the clouds.”
On the surface, he was praising Longzhou, but in the end, the old man was really boasting about his own hometown, the Great Li capital.
Chen Ping'an glanced at the shelf of treasures behind the counter, filled with porcelain of various sizes. He smiled and nodded. “Longzhou naturally can’t compare to the capital. Here, the rules are strict, and crouching tigers and hidden dragons abound, just not conspicuously. By the way, Innkeeper, you like porcelain—is it your sole interest?”
The old man’s eyes lit up. Had he found a connoisseur? He lowered his voice. “I have a treasure porcelain, my shop’s pride. Those who’ve seen it say it’s over a hundred years old, fired right in your Longzhou official kilns. A real bargain—I only spent a dozen or so taels of silver. A friend said it’s an authentic top-grade piece and offered me two hundred taels, but I don’t need the money, so I didn’t sell. Do you know anything about it? Could you take a look? It’s a large vase with a powdered white glaze base, a relatively rare eight-character auspicious mark, painted with figures.”
The old man gestured with his hands to indicate the height—about half a man’s height.
Chen Ping'an thought for a moment and said softly, “It’s definitely not a hundred years old—at most forty. During the Yuanshou era, a batch of large pieces with auspicious marks was indeed fired, but not many. According to the old rules of the dragon kilns back then, any piece with poor coloring was smashed. No one except the supervising officials ever saw a finished piece. As for the good ones, they could only go to be placed there…”
Chen Ping'an pointed with a single finger, smiling, in the direction of the imperial palace.
The old innkeeper groaned, realizing he’d probably wasted his money. But Chen Ping'an picked up a peanut from the small dish, chewed it lightly, and continued, “Large pieces like that are already far more valuable than smaller seated or reclining pieces. Top-grade pieces with human figures are especially valuable—more so than those with flowers, birds, or animals. And an eight-character official kiln mark is particularly rare; usually, it’s four or six characters. If I remember correctly, among all the dragon kilns, such marks were only fired for three years. Nowadays, there are some new ‘official-like imitations,’ but the old masters from the dragon kilns have either passed away or are too old. Their disciples, combined with the change from tribute items for the palace to ordinary official kilns of a lower grade, mean the firing techniques aren’t what they used to be. As for your piece, the age, glaze, and mark all seem correct. Besides, I’ve heard—just rumors, mind you—that a few ordinary large pieces did make their way into the hands of local wealthy families. Or it might be that some old masters, after leaving the dragon kilns, privately fired imitation official pieces on their own. Those are also quite valuable. Barring any surprises, your shop’s treasure is worth at least this much.”
The old man watched as the man raised a single palm, and exclaimed in surprise, “Can it sell for five hundred taels of silver?!”
Chen Ping'an smiled but said nothing. He’d already said what needed to be said; true or false, it mattered and it didn’t. The savvy old innkeeper had certainly heard what he needed to.
The old innkeeper suddenly grinned slyly. “Since it’s worth five hundred, I’ll sell it to you for three hundred?”
Chen Ping'an laughed. “Innkeeper, do I look like someone with that much idle money? Besides, have you forgotten where I’m from?”
The old innkeeper burst into laughter and gave the man a thumbs-up.
Ning Yao watched the guy who could chat and laugh with someone he’d just met.
“When in Rome, do as the Romans do; speak to different people in different ways.” He could strike up a conversation with anyone.
If they kept talking like this, he’d probably get the innkeeper to bring out some liquor, and maybe even get the room fee back?
Chen Ping'an leaned on the counter and casually asked the old innkeeper, “Is there any excitement in the capital lately?”
The capital was never short of excitement: unusual promotions or demotions in officialdom, arrival of lofty mountain immortals, jianghu grandmasters making a name for themselves, various land-and-water dharma assemblies, scholarly debates, famous poems—all were fodder for commoners’ idle chat. Moreover, nowadays, especially in the Great Li court and countryside, people were increasingly eager to learn about the affairs of the other eight continents of the Haoran World.
The old innkeeper nodded. “Of course, there is. Over at the Fire God Temple, there’s going to be a sparring match in a couple of days between two of the four grandmasters from the Martial Ranking. Isn’t that why you two are here?”
Two martial grandmasters of the Martial Ranking, both at the Pinnacle of the Mountain realm, had arranged a battle in the Great Li capital. One was an old man from the former Zhu Ying dynasty, long renowned, a hundred and fifty years old but still vigorous. In recent years, his fists had entered the realm of the sublime on the battlefield, his martial arts at their peak. The other was a female martial artist from a small country on the southwestern coast of Bottle Gourd Continent, named Zhou Haijing. Before the Martial Ranking was published, she had zero fame. It was said she had forged her physique and realm through fighting the tides, and she was rumored to be quite good-looking—a fifty-six-year-old woman who showed no signs of aging. So now, many young disciples from jianghu sects and idle rascals in the capital were howling with excitement.
If it had been in the old innkeeper’s youth, a spar between two Golden Body realm martial artists could be held anywhere in the capital, drawing crowds that emptied the streets, with all the scions of Chi'er Street turning out in force. Nowadays, even a fist-fighting match between two Martial Ranking grandmasters required prior approval from the Ministry of Rites and the Ministry of Justice, and both parties had to sign a contract under government witness—very troublesome.
However, what the capital’s court and the landscape of officials discussed most was still the splendid celebration at Zhengyang Mountain: the direct disciple of Dragon Spring Sword Sect, Liu Xianyang, and the joint observance from Fallen Mountain, especially the elegant demeanor of Mountain Lord Chen Ping'an in his blue robes.
Either a sword immortal or a martial grandmaster.
Indeed, besides the Great Li Iron Cavalry, Bottle Gourd Continent also boasted soaring sword qi and flourishing martial fortune.
Perhaps just as the young man from the countryside, years ago on the ferry at Dajiao Mountain, had looked at Li Tuanjing of Wind Thunder Garden, so now, countless youths across the continent looked at Chen Ping'an of Fallen Mountain.
Chen Ping'an shook his head. “We come from a small sect and were busy traveling; we didn’t hear about this.”
The old innkeeper, though reluctant to end the chat and wanting to pull this Chen Ping'an for a drink, finally handed over the key. “An hour of spring night is worth a thousand gold,” he thought. No point holding them back from their business.
From start to finish, Ning Yao hadn’t said a word. Earlier, when Chen Ping'an paid without a moment’s hesitation, she hadn’t stopped him. Now, as she followed Chen Ping'an down the corridor, her steps steady, her breathing even, she waited until Chen Ping'an opened the door and stepped aside. Ning Yao merely crossed the threshold, picked a chair, and sat down.
Something was off.
It felt like she was about to get hit.
Chen Ping'an stood there, testing the waters. “Should I go back and haggle with the innkeeper to see if he can free up another room?”
Ning Yao took off her sword case, set it upright by her feet, picked up the porcelain pot, and poured a cup of water. “You drank plenty by the river. Don’t you want to sober up first?”
Chen Ping'an gently closed the door, but didn’t bolt it—he didn’t dare. After sitting down, he took the teacup and was about to raise it when he heard Ning Yao ask, “Every time you travel the jianghu, do you always carry so many travel permits?”
Chen Ping'an finished his water and said, “Same as my dharma robe—the more, the better, just in case.”
Ning Yao squinted. “What about mine? Even though it was obviously a fake, we didn’t pass anywhere to forge one on the way here before entering the capital.”
Chen Ping'an smiled. “You’ll be staying in Haoran for several years, so it’ll come in handy. For instance, later I’ll take you to Xianyou to see Brother Xu. I thought ahead and prepared one, as it happened—it came in handy.”
“You must have searched high and low for this inn, right?”
“Earlier on the street, I caught a glimpse of the shelf behind the counter. It caught my eye, and I ended up chatting with the innkeeper.”
Ning Yao asked no more. She nodded in approval. “Clear reasoning, sound logic—both accidental and inevitable. Can’t find a single flaw.”
Chen Ping'an said, “I’ll need to go to that alley later, to my senior brother’s residence, to browse some books.”
Ning Yao didn’t respond. She got up, opened the window, and leaned on the table, her cheek pressed against the desktop, looking outside. Since the inn was close to Yizhi Alley and Chi'er Street, the view was filled with lights: reading lamps from book towers, candlelight from banquet toasts, and young couples climbing high to admire the moon.
Chen Ping'an rarely saw Ning Yao so languid.
He poured himself a cup of tea, stretched his neck sneakily to look at her back. Compared to her days at the Sword Qi Great Wall, there seemed to be subtle changes—she was a bit thinner.
He actually knew a little about women’s hairstyles, eyebrow makeup, clothes, and hair ornaments—from reading miscellaneous books, he’d memorized them. But the young mountain lord had learned eighteen martial arts with no place to use them, a small regret. And Ning Yao truly didn’t need such things.
Back still to Chen Ping'an, still leaning on the table, Ning Yao asked, “Back at First Line Peak, how did you think up that swordsmanship technique?”
Chen Ping'an immediately withdrew his gaze and answered with a smile, “On the city wall, I had nothing better to do, just tinkering with ideas every day.”
Before his natal porcelain was broken, Chen Ping'an had the potential to be a terrestrial immortal. That didn’t necessarily mean he could become a Golden Core adept or a nascent soul terrestrial immortal, just as a swordsman bearing the title of ‘sword immortal embryo’ wasn’t guaranteed to become a sword immortal. And countless people from the mountains with the aptitude but poor luck had lived mediocre but peaceful lives compared to the tumultuous path of cultivation.
Ning Yao turned her head and said, “The matter of your natal porcelain ties into the lifeblood of the Great Li court, the foundation for the Song clan’s rise. There’s much scheming and dishonorable plotting behind it. Just take the covered bridge built by Song Yuzhang in that small town back then—it can’t bear the light. If you start digging up old scores, you’ll shake the whole body by touching one hair. The Song emperors of the past century have all been rather tough-minded. I doubt it will end well.”
Chen Ping'an nodded. “I’m aware of that.”
Ning Yao suddenly said, “Is it possible that Cui Chan intends to make you a solitary, reclusive cultivator in terms of your state of mind?”
Chen Ping'an put his hands in his sleeves, stretched his legs under the table, lightly tapping his cloth shoes together, looking quite relaxed. He thought for a moment and nodded. “Seems a bit like that.”
Among his four senior brothers, the one who had truly guided Chen Ping'an in his studies was Zuo You.
“But wouldn’t that push you toward the Daoist lineage?”
“It’s possible, but not inevitable. For example, Lu Zhi and Xiao Xun on the Sword Qi Great Wall—they have pure sword hearts, but they aren’t necessarily close to the Daoists.”
Ning Yao was silent for a moment. “Do you consider yourself a Buddhist?”
Chen Ping'an laughed. “I’ve believed since I was a child.”
Ning Yao was speechless. It really was true.
Chen Ping'an said softly, “Besides learning practical knowledge that’s useful, good knowledge—even if it seems more abstract—should be learned if possible. According to Cui Dongshan, as long as one is human and comes into this world, there is a grand struggle over the Way—both internal and external, between the tangible and intangible. Apart from finding principles from Confucian sages’ books to help oneself get along with the world, if one believes in and studies Buddhism, or practices the fasting of the mind in Daoism, I won’t be participating in the debates of the three teachings anyway. I only uphold one principle: to use limited time to pursue limitless knowledge.”
“Man is born when the sun rises; he mounts the mountain late, descends early. Just as one enters the circle of ten thousand mountains, one mountain lets you out, another blocks your way.”
Every naturally optimistic person is the king of their subjective world.
Then a naturally pessimistic person needs even more to build huts, pavilions, and ferries within the small realm of their heart, to shelter from wind and rain, to stop and rest.
Ning Yao turned and asked, “Little Mi Li told me that Sister Yuanbao likes Cao Qinglang, and Younger Brother Yuanlai likes Cen Yuanji.”
Little Mi Li was probably the biggest gossip on Fallen Mountain; there didn’t seem to be any gossip she didn’t know. After all, she was the Right Protector who made her rounds on time every day.
Chen Ping'an suddenly understood. “No wonder Yuanbao’s words on the mountain are so sharp and aggressive—she’s mostly trying to attract Cao Qinglang’s attention like that. And Yuanlai likes to read at the mountain gate by the foot of the mountain. I was wondering, since he wasn’t going for Zheng Dafeng’s erotic books, what was he up to? Turns out he was going to see the girl he likes. Good heavens, young but early to awaken; much better than me, the mountain lord.”
Ning Yao asked, “Are you going to keep hounding Zhengyang Mountain? Sixty years? A hundred?”
Chen Ping'an couldn’t help but shake his head and smile. “Actually, I don’t need to keep an eye on them anymore.”
It was the same principle as with Li Shuipiao of the Nine True Immortal Hall in the Central Continent and the chief guest official from a major sect in Northern Juzhou—they remembered both the meal and the beating.
It was like when an unwelcome guest had once come to the door and deliberately left a boot in someone else’s house before leaving. The guest didn’t really care whether he got it back, but the host wouldn’t think that way.
Ning Yao sat up. Chen Ping'an had already poured a cup of tea and handed it to her. She took a sip and asked, “Does Fallen Mountain have to close and seal itself off? Can’t you do like Master Ruan of Dragon Spring Sword Sect—accept them and then decide whether to include them in the registry?”
Chen Ping'an shook his head. “Even if I could manage a few dozen or even a hundred extra people, I wouldn’t be able to manage their hearts. I’m not worried about Zhu Lian or Changming, but about the children like Nuanshu, Xiao Mi Li, and Chen Lingjun, and the youngsters like Cen Yuanji, Jiang Qu, and Jiuer. With more people in the mountain, hearts become complicated. At best, there will be a short-lived bustle; one misstep, and it won’t be lively at all. Fallen Mountain doesn’t lack manpower for now. Over at the subsidiary sect in Tongye Continent, Mi Yu and the others can take on a few more disciples.”
Chen Ping'an, after all, wasn't Zheng Juzhong or Wu Shuangjiang. Zheng Juzhong could observe the subtleties of human hearts from Baidi City; Wu Shuangjiang could personally teach all the cultivators of Suichu Palace. How could Chen Ping'an have such ability?
It wasn’t just about the disparity in cultivation realms compared to those two great cultivators; it was more about Chen Ping'an’s state of mind, which lagged considerably behind Zheng Juzhong and Wu Shuangjiang.
At this moment, the cultivation seeds flocking to Longzhou in search of immortal fortunes—not all, but most—were definitely pursuing fame and gain. Entering mountains to seek immortals wasn’t easy, and their eagerness for the Way was understandable. But what Chen Ping'an worried about was different from typical mountain lords or sect masters. For example, in the end, how Little Mi Li’s melon seeds were distributed might become a major issue of fluctuating hearts and undercurrents on Fallen Mountain. In the end, Little Mi Li would be the one hurt, possibly to the point where the girl would never again happily hand out melon seeds. There was a distinction between close and distant; one must first protect the rare peace of mind on Fallen Mountain before considering others’ paths to cultivation.
Chen Ping'an smiled wistfully. “When I start thinking that even a mountain spirit artifact isn’t worth much, I need to reflect and be very vigilant.”
Ning Yao glanced at him. He was either earning money or counting it, and after counting, he earned more. He’d been a money-grubber since childhood, something that had amazed Ning Yao from the start. Even today, she remembered that night when the straw-sandal youth, carrying a large basket, dashed to the Dragon Beard River to pick up stones.
Chen Ping'an said self-deprecatingly, “I was terrified of poverty as a child.”
Ning Yao shook her head. She knew that wasn’t really the case. Money-loving or not, as long as Chen Ping'an had enough to eat and wear, he didn’t seek much else externally.
Suddenly, Chen Ping'an stood up and laughed. “I need to go to the alley to meet a high official from the Ministry of Rites. After that, I might go to the Renyun Yiyun Tower to read. You don’t have to wait up for me; get some rest early.”
Ning Yao didn’t speak.
Chen Ping'an took a step, shrinking the land and mountains, and quietly left the inn, appearing in a secluded, unlit alley.
Ning Yao leaned on the table again, frowning slightly. *You’re the one going to read. I didn’t say anything. What more do you want?*
An old man hurried out of the imperial city and boarded a carriage. The wheels rumbled all the way. Originally headed for an inn, the carriage changed course slightly near the destination. The driver, a royal retainer of Great Li, said they were going to State Preceptor Cui Chan’s residence, where Chen Ping'an was waiting.
At the street corner that had earlier blocked Chen Ping'an's path, behind a seemingly dark and narrow alley, there was actually a hidden world: a three-mu-sized white jade plaza, known in the mountains as a “snail temple grounds.” Terrestrial immortals could store it within their qi palaces and take it out to set up on the spot. Like inch-objects and foot-objects, it was a rare mountain treasure. An old nascent soul cultivator was sitting in meditation, breathing and refining. Which cultivator wouldn’t wish that twelve hours in a day could become twenty-four? But this young dragon gate realm cultivator was practicing fist techniques and stance drills, shouting out loud. In Chen Ping'an's eyes, he looked like a crude jianghu performer, an eyesore—much like how Pei Qian had once invented her own crazy sword technique.
The old cultivator still hadn’t detected the presence of the nearby uninvited guest. After completing a minor cycle of qi circulation, irritated by his disciple’s noise, he had to open his eyes and scold, “Duanming, cherish your time on the path of cultivation. Don’t waste it on such things. If you really want to learn fist techniques, find a proper martial arts master. Your family isn’t short of money. Even if you have no talent for martial arts, getting a Wanderfarer realm martial artist to teach you while holding his nose isn’t hard. It’s better than practicing wild hook punches here every day and poking out my eyes.”
The young man was Zhao Duanming. *Zhao Duanming—upright in conduct, bright in heart—what a meaningful name. Unfortunately, the homophone was deadly. The youth always thought that if his surname were Li, when others joked about his name, he could simply state his full name and save face.
He came from a first-rate powerful clan in Great Li, the Zhao family of Tianshui, one of the country’s pillar surnames. And Zhao Duanming was the legitimate child of the main branch.
Among all the pillar surnames of Great Li, Yuan, Cao, and Guan were the top tier. Then came the Yu family and the Zhao family of Tianshui. After that, the Qiu family of Fufeng, the Ma family of Poyang, the Yan family of Zizhao—all with little difference between them.
Zhao Duanming, while still practicing his fists, asked, “Master, how old exactly is that Zhou Haijing? Is she really fifty-six? She doesn’t look it. I caught a few glances of her from afar earlier—tsk tsk—good figure and bearing. Both me and that drunkard Cao are quite fond of her. I’ve made plans with Cao Drunkard that when Zhou Haijing fights at the Fire God Temple, he’ll get me a good seat up close. Martial artists fighting, especially if she wears a night outfit—heh heh.”
The old man laughed angrily. “From now on, don’t hang around that lecher Cao too much. Martial grandmasters like Zhou Haijing often have mastery over their appearance; you can’t judge their real age by looks alone. It’s the same as us qi refiners. And remember: I won’t stop you from watching, but keep your eyes in check. I’ve heard Zhou Haijing has a very bad temper, far less easygoing than Zheng Qian.”
The youth stopped his fists and stood upright, grinning. “Age isn’t a problem. ‘A wife three years older is like holding a gold brick.’ Master, how many gold bricks would I be holding with her age?”
The old man rolled his eyes. “The fact that someone with your divination skills can even cultivate is a travesty of reason.”
Zhao Duanming rubbed his chin. “Both are on the Martial Ranking’s Four Grandmasters, with Zhou Haijing at the bottom, but in terms of looks and figure, she’s better than Zheng Qian.”
Chen Ping'an, concealing his form, stood on a wall not far away. He had originally been more focused on the carriage, but casually stored this comment from the youth in his mind.
As for the young cultivators on the rooftop of the Tianlu Pavilion in the capital, they were still in the same spot, so Chen Ping'an gave them a few more glances.
Each wore a waist token, not the “no-trouble token” issued by the Ministry of Justice, but carved with a single character, all chosen from the twelve earthly branches.
It seemed that among the six, there was one each of Confucian, Buddhist, Daoist, one swordsman, one talisman cultivator, and one military strategist.
And they were all extremely wealthy. Not to mention their outer garments; they all wore the highest-grade warp-and-weft armor from military armor items underneath, and a dharma robe over that, as if ready for battle at any moment.
At this moment, someone seemed to have started taking bets.
A young woman, wearing a round-collar cloud brocade robe from the Jiankang Brocade Office over her treasure armor and dharma robe, spread her hands and said with a smile, “Taking bets, taking bets! Wagering on whether Sword Immortal Chen will go to the imperial palace tonight. One-to-one odds.”
The other five threw out spirit coins—mostly Minor Summer coins, two Grain Rain coins, and one person only gave a Snow Blossom coin. That was a young girl-like military strategist, dressed in gold-threaded sparrow feather makeup gauze, the moonlight cold, the satin surface shining like flowing water.
The young woman looked puzzled. “Is that it?”
The young girl crossed her arms and said gloomily, “I really don’t have any money left today.”
A young Daoist sat cross-legged, grinning. “You’ve saved so much dowry money over the years. Risk it big, win big.”
A clean-cut young Buddhist monk in plain gauze robes put his palms together. “May the Buddha bless your disciple to have continued good luck in gambling tonight.”
These six cultivators included some with top-tier pillar surnames, some whose parents were mountain Dao companions, and some from humble market backgrounds. They had been carefully gathered by the Sticky Rod Envoys of the Great Li Ministry of Justice. The oldest was ninety, the youngest just a little over ten. Besides them, there were eleven others in total. The twelve earthly branches now had only one vacant position—a missing pure martial artist. They had no fixed preachers, no formal ancestral hall registry status, but among the several grandmasters who taught them fist techniques was Song Changjing, though his guidance was infrequent—only a few times. There were also Mohist wandering knights and a swordsman named Xu Ruo. Those who taught them the art of viewing qi included several former mountain lords from the old Great Li mountains, plus a few outsiders with hidden backgrounds and obscure lineages.
Everyone present had life-bound objects of the five elements: five-colored earth from the new Five Great Mountains of Bottle Gourd Continent, the great river fortune of the new Qi Ferry, a large sum of gold-essence copper coins, locust trees, and a form of aquatic fire.
Chen Ping'an jumped down from the wall, appearing at the corner of the street and alley, no longer concealing his aura. He waited quietly for the arrival of the Vice Minister of Rites, who was actually an old acquaintance, Dong Hu.
The old cultivator put away that snail temple grounds and, along with his disciple Zhao Duanming, stood at the mouth of the alley. The old man frowned. “Again?”
Was this a place for casual strolling? Why wouldn’t young people listen to advice? Did they only learn after getting hurt?
Chen Ping'an smiled. “I’ve disturbed the old immortal master’s cultivation. I’m waiting for someone here. After we finish talking, I might go to the residence to read.”
The old cultivator shook his head, too lazy to say more. At most, if the Ministry of Justice asked later, he’d say it was just an inexperienced jianghu wanderer—no need to make a fuss.
Suddenly, the old man stopped and turned to look. The carriage had stopped, and Vice Minister Dong stepped out.
Chen Ping'an proactively bowed. “Greetings, Senior Dong.”
Dong Hu quickly reached out to support the young mountain lord’s arm. “Mountain Lord Chen, you mustn’t, mustn’t!”
After smiling, the old vice minister steeled himself and asked, “May I ask what Mountain Lord Chen’s visit to the capital means?”
Chen Ping'an returned the smile with a question. “And what does His Majesty mean?”
Dong Hu said cautiously, “That depends on what Mountain Lord Chen means.”
On a distant ridge, a woman appeared, holding a wine jug with two fingers. The young woman who had been collecting bets smiled charmingly. “Aunt Feng.”
The woman’s voice was naturally alluring as she laughed. “You’re not very bold, taking bets right under his nose.”
The young woman asked in surprise, “Aunt Feng, did he notice us long ago?”
Back in the alley, Chen Ping'an heard the woman’s words. He apologized to the old vice minister, saying he would be right back, and vanished in a flash, heading straight for that rooftop.
A fluttering blue robe suddenly appeared, standing at the upturned eaves.
The woman looked at Chen Ping'an and asked with a smile, “Something?”
Chen Ping'an said, “I’ve only heard your voice before, never seen your face. I didn’t expect to meet you here, Senior.”